Preserved for Posterity Part III - Team Taylor's hospital stay

Age of Lady Kaitlyn:  11 Days

Family,

And a good afternoon to you from the Queen City.  I'm conscious that, if you're reading this all in a clip, you've noticed that the blog goes in "fits and starts."  I'd like to lie and tell you that's deliberate, but the truth of the matter is that, at this point, I'm just trying to write whenever 2 things collide:  a) I have a spare moment between feedings and changings, and b) - I am awake/lucid enough for not only coherent thought but also constructing sentences.  Granted, something tells me I'll read this 6 months from now and chuckle at how incoherent my "brief periods of lucidity" were during this window, but hey - it's all about the story we have to tell (and however we can tell it), right?

The proud (and terrified) parents of Kaitlyn Elaine Taylor -
no real way to describe the emotions of knowing that a) mom
and baby are ok, b) that little bundle of joy is now yours, and
c) there is a new, uncharted depth of love you've just discovered.

This is a post I've been meaning to put together for some time, as the swirl of emotions and events that took place during our hospital stay where torrential in nature and speed, and even now trying to reconstruct everything that happened in chronological fashion will be a challenge.  I've gone through the photo archive in preparation (thank GOODNESS for digital photography, as I really want to take photos of this little girl every second to ensure I don't miss a thing - why do they grow so fast!?!?!), but to use the great quote from the movie "Great Expectations" (which was a horrible movie and even worse book for the record - sorry, Mrs. Ware):  "I'm not going to tell this story the way it happened.  I'm going to tell it the way I remember."

The first night can only be described as SURREAL.  I mean, think about it - you're in a hospital, which in and of itself is uncomfortable enough.  This guy is sleeping on a plastic couch that wouldn't have passed safety inspection in an Iraqi prison.  The room is 72 degrees, and with the adrenaline coursing through my veins, it feels like Death Valley in summer in the room.  At home I would strip down to my boxers, but since all of my boxers are 14 years old and have an exploded crotch, something tells me this is a bad idea since a staff of about 600 people walks in every 20 minutes to check something.

My wife is on a hospital bed in a state of euphoria and delirium.  Also, her breasts are out for an hour at a time every 3 hours, and a host of women I've never met watch her feed and touch parts of her body that, until 3 hours previous, were exclusively off limits to anyone other than me.  Oddly enough, none of this feels odd - it is AMAZING how everything COMPLETELY changes the second you have a child.

The Bible of room 838 - all the instructions
new parents, nurses, lab techs, and doctors
need to ensure little Kaitlyn stays healthy.

Oh, and there's the most surreal (yet tiniest) component- THERE IS A BABY IN A BASSINET IN THE ROOM WITH YOUR DNA.  Holy.  Cow.

You will always hear that no matter how much you read or prepare, parenting is 99.9% OJT.  I can now confirm THAT IS 100% TRUE.  Case in point - Sammy's first diaper change.

So here's the deal - coming into this hospital stay, there were 4 things I was worried about (gotta love how a guy's mind works):  a) the temperature of the house and how to keep the baby warm, b) how to clean lady parts (if the baby was a she), c) the temperature of the milk, and d) how to swaddle.  I didn't know how to change a diaper, but I thought "how hard can it be - I'll just watch the nurse."  Yeah, well, I didn't count on us being alone with the child for NINETY SECONDS before the nurse said, "Ok, you change her and I'll be back in a minute to check her."  Um, WHAT?

I am NOT joking - what came out of her was the same
primordial ooze the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles used
to become heroes in a half shell (Turtle Power).

So I open that diaper, and HOLY SHIT - literally.  For those that don't know, Baby's first "stool" is this black tar called menicotin, and it looks like something out of Resident Evil.  Now I had read about this, but given that K's stomach is the size of a marble, I just assumed that it would be no more than a smear in her diaper - HUGE MISTAKE.  It was EVERYWHERE.  But since I am now a father and must take care of this, I do what any dad does - dive right in.

2 seconds later there's poop on the blanket below her.  4 seconds later there's poop on my arm.  6 seconds later there's poop on the bassinet wall.  8 seconds later Kaitlyn is screaming.  10 seconds later I am frantically pressing the call button, begging for a nurse - good times.

We didn't get much sleep that night, but sleep is tricky when folks come in almost every hour to check Kaitlyn's vitals, Jenny's vitals, wake us for a feeding, deliver meds, make the rounds, you name it.  But honestly, we were so jacked up that night that it didn't matter (it should be noted that I no longer have that much adrenaline running through my veins - it's been replaced by coffee and Mountain Dew - and I'm ready to go at diaper changing like a spider monkey).  But I did get to do a fatherly duty and make the rounds telling folks:  "IT'S A GIRL!!!!!"  Also, on the walk (or ride in Jenny's case) to post partum, the hospital staff "turned the key" that plays Brahm's lullaby on the entire floor, signifying that a new baby has been born.  Hearing that music and knowing that was for our baby girl was certainly an emotional moment.

Sammy the Bull offering "kangaroo care" - and trying NOT
to fall asleep (FAIL).

The craziest part of all the notifications - my mother was on a cruise in the Panama canal, and so she was OUT OF THE COUNTRY when Jenny's water broke.  It broke my heart for her, as I knew she'd be devastated she missed it.  I honestly didn't know what to do, as I was afraid that, if I sent her an email, she'd hop off the boat in Panama City and fly home, and I didn't want her to miss her cruise.  However, I knew that I had to tell her, as I didn't want her hearing it from anyone but me.  So my best friend (Rice, henceforth known as the Hoffler) gave me the solution - send her an email with a newborn pic.  It was a stroke of genius, and when mom wrote back the next day I absolutely broke down in tears of joy.  While I didn't give her the news in the way she wanted, I still was able to show her how beautiful our little angel was (and was so relieved that she'd heard it from me first).

Proud grandparents - Grandma and Grandpa Tacy...and Sam
rocking the Benny Wilson Band "Plan B is for Beer" shirt - quality.

Tuesday in the hospital was a blur of friends and family, including Jenny's folks, Cuz Megan (one of the folks who hosted the shower), Jenny's friend Leigh, and our friend Jen (also a host of the shower).  Jen came bearing snacks, which at first we thought was just a nice gesture but later realized was ESSENTIAL FOR SURVIVAL since dinner was served at 5 PM but you're awake all night (and it should be noted that the baby daddy does NOT get food from the hospital - hurtful).  During this day we had a lot of kangaroo care (skin to skin care, where apparently we deepen bonds and transfer antibodies to the wee one), several lessons on breastfeeding and taking care of both mom and baby, and Kaitlyn passed several inspections (hearing, birth defects, etc).  The one that proved elusive was the car seat test, as she was unable to sit in the car seat for 90 minutes straight without her oxygen saturation levels dipping below 88% (NO IDEA what that really means, but she had to pass it before they would discharge us).  The highlight of the day was Kimiko (our nurse) swinging back into our room before our shift ended to tell us "You guys have really, really improved as parents in these 12 hours.  I am very proud of you."  At the time it felt like some of the highest praise we'd ever received in our lives.  Oh, and at about 1 AM a cop showed up in our room, as apparently Kaitlyn's low-jack had fallen off her ankle and had sent the floor into lockdown.  Luckily the cop didn't think that I'd scaled 8 floors and broken in through the window in an attempt to steal her, so all was well.

So we're clear on this one:  1.  We did NOT color-coordinate
so that our child would grow up to be an Arizona fan.  2.  I
did NOT realize Jenny's purse was on my shoulder (but damn)
I look good.  3.  Kaitlyn does NOT like beanies - especially
those with points that make her look like a member of the KKK.

Wednesday was a day of packing and hoping, as I was DESPERATE to get out of that hospital.  It wasn't just that I was sleeping on a bed of 10 penny nails - I just wanted to be at home with my family, starting out lives together in earnest.  Also, I knew that I wasn't eating right or drinking enough water, and just wanted to be back in my kitchen (read:  DORITOS) and on my furniture.  However, K still hadn't passed the car seat test (failed it a second time on Wednesday morning), and so we had one final shot at it around 3 PM before we would have to stay another night.  Luckily she passed, and we were discharged about 5 PM.

I then finished packing, had my car seat inspected (I PASSED FOR THE RECORD!!!!), and began loading the car.  Once it was all said and done, we said a tearful farewell to room 838 (it really was emotional, as this is where our life as a family of 3 began), picked up our final belongings, and walked to the nursery, where they snipped Kaitlyn's lowjack and we had our first family photo outside of the post partum room (you can't hide sexy - especially wearing your wife's purse).  It was then to the ground floor, where Sammy the Bull experienced another new first of fatherhood - putting your child in a car seat.

Now seriously, I know those of you without kids are all saying "how hard can it be?", but let me tell you - when your child is less than 6 pounds, can't hold her head up, and basically supports herself like a sack of potatoes, I can assure you that it is NOT easy.  Add in the facts that a) her clothes DO NOT fit her at all (seriously - it's like she's wearing a sleep sack), b) you can barely see a creature like that breathing in all those bundled layers, c) she failed the test twice of what you are about to do to her, and d) once you walk outside that hospital door, you are ON YOUR OWN, and you have a recipe for clumsy father fingers.  The good news is that, FINALLY, we managed to wedge her into the seat.  The better news is that we managed to lock the infant carrier into the car seat base.  And the best news - the car started.  But it was at THAT point, ladies and gentlemen, that Kaitlyn Elaine decided to first test her lungs in non-recycled air. HOLY COW.

The bug in the rug - snuggled in for the first
night at home (insert Phil Phillips singing).

Seriously - I know this girl might be a preemie, but HER LUNGS ARE FULLY FORMED.  She was screaming like a rabid banshee, and I was pretty much certain that a) her diaper was wet, b) she was hungry, c) she did NOT like being confined, and d) I would have a headache the size of Mongolia by the time we got home.  Oh, an I dropped the ticket when I tried to hand it to the attendant, further elongating the time the window was down and FREEZING WIND was whipping into my child's face - yes, folks:  FATHER OF THE YEAR.

But hey, we got her home, got her set up int he Bassinet, and actually got some sleep that first night (I think the exhaustion and emotion just overwhelmed us and sent us into a sleep coma - the CostCo mattress didn't hurt either :-)).

Okay, there it is - the recap of Team Taylor (now party of 3)'s time in the hospital, including the most harrowing drive home I've had since hitting my mom's car outside of East Ridge Middle School 31 days after receiving my license - sorry about that one mom - but at least I gave you a grand baby to make up for it!).

It's tournament time - GOOOOOOOOOO CRUSADERS!!!!!!

Love,

Sam and Jenny